Senior Year for the Genius in Me
by DZAuthor AKA DZMom
Summary: Based on Lisa Yee's Millicent Min, Girl Genius, the summer is over and Millie's senior year has started. If you aren't familiar with the story but like the fanfic, why not read Lisa Yee's novels about these characters? Tags: Asian Chinese


_**Author Note: /**Lisa Yee owns the rights to the characters Millicent Min, Stanford Wong and Emily Ebers and the settings in her novels. This fanfiction is a tribute to the delightful stories that she has written in these characters' points' of view:_ Millicent Min, Girl Genius_;_ Stanford Wong Flunks Big Time_; and_ So Totally Emily Ebers_.**/**_

I'm dribbling a basketball up and down the gymnasium. Every third bounce or so the ball gets away and I have to run after it. The other girls whisper about the girl genius who can't even dribble the ball.

Intramural basketball is not my ideal pastime. Millicent Min, that's me, would much rather be studying Advanced Placement Differential Calculus. No one shuns you for being uncoordinated when you engage in calculus problem solving.

The only reason I'm even in this after school activity is that Mom had a brilliant idea to help me diversify and gain more experience integrating with my peer group.

The seventeen year-olds in my senior class are definitely not in my peer group. I may be only twelve, but as a genius the only peer I've had any interactions with was a professor of literature at Rogers College. I took her class last summer. None of the other students in the class were even interested in literature. Why they attended college is still a mystery to me.

My best friend, Emily Ebers, didn't want to take basketball this fall. She decided to stick with volleyball. That's how I met her last summer. I guess I should thank Mom for making me join a sports activity. I've never had a friend until I met Emily. We banded together as the only girls on our team who didn't already know how to play volleyball.

So three days a week I go to the Junior High to join my peer group for intramural activities. Now that I've completed ten dribbling runs up and down the gym I join the other girls in practicing lay-ups.

I dribble up on the right side, jerk my knee up and push the ball out of my right hand. It hits the rim of the hoop and bounces right back in my face. And it hurts. The girls laugh out loud, but suddenly stop.

I look up and see that one of the previous members or the Roadrunners basketball team is looking at the girls with a frown on his face. It's the tall one. The girls are now whispering to each other and giggling.

I carry the ball to the back of the line of girls waiting to practice lay-ups. Then I look up and see that tall guy give me a nod before he walks away. I guess he must recognize me.

This summer I had to tutor Stanford Wong. He didn't want the Roadrunners to know that he'd failed sixth grade English. But I guess they found out anyway.

Stanford didn't want me to tell Emily that I was tutoring him either, but she figured it out, too. One time she and I were hanging out and he saw us together. They ended up becoming girlfriend/boyfriend. He bought her ice cream and stuff. I was the third wheel. He never bought ice cream for me. Not that I wanted him to, but I thought it was rude of him to offer Emily but not me.

Time for another lay-up. The laughs have started behind me. I'm concentrating, my knee rises, my arm rises, I still have the ball and I flick my wrist at precisely the right angle. The ball touches the white square on the backboard and falls in the basket, spinning around and around like a flushing toilet. I catch it as it falls through the net and dribble back to the end of the line. I'll have to remember what I did that worked that time.

The intramural instructor dismisses us. Emily made me promise to join her, Stanford and the former Roadrunners for their Friday night get-togethers at some guy's house named Stretch. Who names their kid Stretch?

Now that I'm back in school clothes I go to the cafeteria and wait for Emily. Here she comes, bounding down the hall, full of energy.

"I'm so excited about tonight. You finally get to meet the guys! And the red-haired one is going to be there." Emily is looking at me with a goofy smile.

"I only said he was a six because you said I never scored a guy higher than three." Last summer she made me point out someone who was cute. She taught me to use a rating scale. Imagine how shocked I was when she told me dorky Stanford was a twelve, off the scales! I guess she sees something in him I don't see.

I don't know how a guy can be rated solely on appearance. What really matters is their level of intellectual engagement, their social consciousness and their lifelong aspirations. Emily doesn't understand this.

Of course, Emily sometimes tells _me _that I act stupid. I'm a genius. It is impossible for me to be stupid. She doesn't see my logic.

Now she's dragging me along the sidewalk and we're heading to the Burger Barn. That's where Stanford meets his buddies every Friday for, what else, burgers. I hope there is something vegetarian on the menu. Usually I can find a salad.

And here we are, walking in the door of the Burger Barn. Four guys, including Stanford, are sitting at a table. There are exactly two chairs left. One on each side of Stanford. How thoughtful.

They've already ordered for us. Thankfully, Stanford remembered to get me a salad without bacon sprinkles.

The small table was a tight fit. I was finding it difficult to figure out where to put my briefcase. I carry my briefcase like most kids carry a backpack. Everything I need is in reach: pens, paper, a calculator (which I use only when absolutely necessary) and chocolate bars.

The tall guy from the gym is sitting next to me. He gestures with his hand for me to put the briefcase on the floor between our feet. I know the floor is dirty, so I'm hesitant. But there really is no other option if I want to eat something.

The read-head is sitting across from me. Emily leans in front of Stanford and says, "Tico once went an entire day without eating meat. Isn't that right, Tico?"

The red-headed boy nodded and then took a giant bite of his hamburger. I think Emily kicked his shins under the table because he suddenly jerked his head up and complained with a mouth full of burger, "What?"

I gave Emily the "forget it" look. Tico quickly chewed his mouthful of burger and gulped it down with a huge swig of his soft drink. Then he laughed nervously and said, "Yeah. I was a vegetarian for one day. But at midnight, I gave in an made my dad order me a pepperoni pizza."

I nodded at him. He seemed to accept my feigned interest. Stanford looked at the tall guy next to me and said, "Stretch's dad is vegan. Isn't that right?"

The tall boy nodded. I looked at him for a long time. He didn't seem to care that I was actually staring. He did briefly acknowledge my curiosity with a nod. I realized that I've never heard him talk. He just nods or points with his hand.

I went back to eating my salad. The guys were already done and Emily wasn't too interested in finishing her half-pound burger.

"You guys go ahead. I'll catch up when I'm done with my salad." I really didn't want them staring at me eating. And their conversation was not titillating in the least.

"But you don't know how to get to Stretch's house," Emily protested.

Stretch suddenly spoke in a deep voice next to me, "Stanford has the key. Go on in. I'll show, um, Mill, the way."

"Whatever," Stanford said, shrugging. "She could just call on her cell for directions, you know."

Silent again, Stretch nodded them off. When Stanford stood up, he knocked over his and my drinks which poured all over my jeans. And it poured on my briefcase.

I stood up quicker than I usually move and pulled the briefcase out from the pool of sticky soft drink.

"Just go on without me," I said, trying not to show anger. I know Stanford didn't mean to spill the drinks. He's the most coordinated of the bunch, so this was a pretty rare accident.

Stanford didn't seem sorry in the least. "Okay, dry off and come over when you can." Then he said, "Are you sure you don't want to come with us, Stretch? Millie's gonna take a long time cleaning off her briefcase."

I didn't even bother to look up to see his reaction. I had the briefcase opened on the table next to me and used my napkin to swab the sticky stains that had dripped onto the cloth inside.

One paper napkin was not going to be enough. I turned to find more napkins and Stretch was holding a huge stack of yellowish paper napkins right in front of me.

"Thanks," I said, "Stretch."

"It's Steven," his deep voice intoned. Then he began dabbing the syrupy soft-drink that had leaked onto the other side of the briefcase.

"Thank you, Steven." What was I supposed to say? Maybe Emily was right about me being stupid sometimes. Right now I had no idea what to say to Stanford's friend.

It was easier to just focus on the task. I noticed that Stretch – Steven – was wiping each and every pen, just the way I would have done it. No one does it that way. At least so far, no one in my family really cares about being that exact.

I gave him an appreciative smile and he nodded back.

As we worked and were closer to the middle section of the briefcase, our hands touched.

I don't know why I drew in my breath sharply, but I did. And Steven heard me. He looked at me and said in a quiet but powerful voice, "Excuse me, I didn't mean to."

Then my face reddened a little bit, I think. It was hard to tell without looking in a mirror to be sure, and I didn't want to do that in front of Steven.

So I just stood up straight, took a deep breath and told him, "You didn't do anything. I just was surprised."

I think he believed me. He was more careful. Not that he was careless before, but I noticed that he yielded the space to me so that he wouldn't bump into me again.

"Well, that's everything," I said, satisfied that the near disaster had been averted.

"Steven, thank you so much for helping me. Those stains probably would have set in if you hadn't cleaned up the other side of my briefcase."

He shrugged a lanky shrug and sat down. At least now I could see his face better. He was really tall. Maybe that's why they called him Stretch.

"Finish your salad, um, Mill." He wiped off my chair with spare napkins.

"I like Millie," I said, sitting next to him.

I gave him a smile and noticed that he was smiling, too. But I knew he was thinking something to himself, not really smiling back at me.

"What?" I asked, curiously.

He looked down for a second and straightened his face before looking back up at me. I tried to figure out his thoughts, which I knew was impossible, since nobody can know another person's thoughts.

He smiled again and chuckled, "I like Millie, too." Then he looked away.

Well, that was a surprise. He'd just said a pun that could be taken one of two ways. Either he like the name, or … possibly he was saying that he liked me?

I chuckled back, a bit delayed. The best course of action was to eat my salad, so I did it.

Stretch was practically immobile next to me until I finished. Then, when we stood to go, he offered to carry my briefcase for me. Well, I'm naked without my briefcase, so that was a definite "no." He shrugged and helped me put the strap over my shoulder.

That's when he touched my hand again. This time I looked up into his eyes and smiled. "I like Steven, too."

I can't believe I just said that! Where did that come from? His face went straight again. I noticed that he was really quite handsome. I knew I wasn't pretty by traditional standards.

"You play basketball?" I asked. That was such a stupid question.

"Just for fun," he said, holding the door of the restaurant open. I walked through and he followed behind me. "I'm more of a computer geek, actually. I write programs and stuff."

I walked next to him as we walked through the neighborhoods until we reached the front door of his house.

"Sometime, Millie, if you'd like, maybe we can talk about the algorithms used in predicting the effects of pollutants on endangered wildlife populations." He was just standing in front of his door, and talking to me … like, like a peer.

"That … That would be great!" I said. "I'm very interested in the pollution reduction legislation that is being debated in the senate."

"Me, too," he said.

I don't know why I did it, but I suddenly hugged him. He was just standing there stiffly, so I let go of him right away and backed up. "Gosh, I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."

Now I was completely red. I didn't need a mirror to know it.

When I could manage to my complexion, I looked up at him. He had a gentle grin on his face. Then he bent down and put his lips on mine.

It took every single ounce of discipline not to jerk away. My eyes must have been bugging out because when he looked at me, he just turned around and went inside the house without saying anything.

I followed him in. The guys had something loud playing on the TV. I heard Emily's laughter above the rest of the chattering.

"Steven," I said. I didn't know what else to say. But at least he stopped in the foyer and didn't walk away.

"You're … very thoughtful. Thank you."

Why was I repeatedly thanking him? He walked closer to me and leaned down to kiss me again. This time I was ready. I concentrated on the feeling of his lips touching mine. It was very brief. I wished it was longer when he pulled away.

"Millie!" Emily's voice interrupted my thoughts. Steven and I turned to see Emily standing in the hall, her hands on her hips. She had a happy smile on her face. Steven just walked past Emily and went to join the other boys.

"What was that?" Emily ran up to me and whispered.

"I think I like him," I whispered back.

"I'm pretty sure he likes you, too. You should have seen how hot that kiss looked." Emily was still whispering, but her voice was getting more excited. "They're best friends … Stanford and Stretch. Just like us!"

I was going to correct her and say, "Steven." But then I realized that I might not have to be the third wheel any longer if Stretch – Steven – and I got along. I held her hand and giggled.

Millicent Min, girl genius, actually giggled. This was going to be the best senior year any twelve year old has ever had!


End file.
